Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence for the man.
Acknowledgement: This story takes place in a universe conceived by The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i. This writer remains indebted for the latitude granted to him in his interpretation of the established universe.
ICYMI: A tearful epiphany, a desire to reunite, a minefield to negotiate.
And now that you know that, you're off to the races!
15. The Lions' Dens (Part 1)
The city of Hillwood and its surrounds had over the years been the scene of a broad range of unusual, sometimes surreal, adventures and experiences for Arnold Philip Shortman that sometimes bordered on the supernatural. From a pigeon whisperer to a Pig War reenactment that quickly became all too real. From trolling the entire city with a fake alien invasion to inadvertently stopping a low-rent penny-forging ring on Elk Island.
One adventure that stood out more vividly than most, though, was his and Gerald's encounter with the Sewer King and his hordes of rats. Looking back, Arnold could only marvel at how he and his best friend barely escaped swarms of the vermin in an epic survivor horror sequence which if ever filmed would easily have graced a Saturn Award highlight reel. Arnold had to admit that this was one instance in which he saw his life flash before him, that he reckoned there was a less than 50/50 chance of him surviving the underground expedition.
Yet right this moment, seated at the Pataki table alongside a gruff and glaring Bob Pataki, he felt more inclined than ever before to relive that subterranean murine misadventure. Better odds of survival, he reckoned.
He was in that position because he had absentmindedly accepted Miriam's lunch invitation, to Helga's silent protest. The blonde girl had desperately wanted him to decline so that he'd be spared exactly the situation in which he now found himself. Said situation was not improved one bit when Bob asked just who the hell the gatecrasher was (progress: he really wanted to say 'fuck') and Miriam sweetly announced Arnold as Helga's boyfriend. Perhaps she triggered a PTSD-like response in the Pataki elder over what happened to Olga, but the fact remained that her disclosure did not sit well with him.
Hence the prevailing seating arrangement.
Opposite Arnold and Bob sat the women of the house, Helga and Miriam. They were in the middle of a Saturday afternoon lunch comprising a hearty-looking (not to mention tasty) tuna casserole paired with a green salad. True to Helga's word, the Pataki matriarch was a damn good cook. Arnold would later learn from Helga how the new, improved (read: sober) Miriam had rediscovered her inner domestic goddess. He would learn too about how Miriam had also taken some initiative and decreed that mealtimes in the Pataki household were best with all dwellers in attendance.
So the problem wasn't the food itself; it was the pall of silence under which they were eating. This didn't feel right for Arnold who was used to the loud, rambunctious gatherings back at The Sunset Arms. But here and now? Helga and Bob barely seemed to tolerate each other's presence; as long as they didn't speak, there would be peace. Miriam, meanwhile, looked as eager as Arnold for some convivial chatter, though it was clear to the footballhead that she was no longer versed in that particular skill.
It was then that a bold kid made one of his boldest moves yet when he turned to face Robert Pataki and asked: "So, Mister Pataki..?"
The already formidable silence at the table reached pin-drop levels, as Helga fixed him with another of what he'd come to acknowledge as her are-you-fucking-crazy expressions. Miriam looked similarly dismayed, though her expression also suggested she was regretting the new course correction she had chosen in life and for her family.
And Bob. Bob's glare hadn't diminished as he stared down the orphan boy and replied brusquely.
"Yeah?"
"About your business, your…Beeper Emporium…" Arnold hesitated, though he kept maintaining eye contact with Helga's grandfather.
"So? What's it to you?" Bob groused back, like an already grumpy bear whose hibernation had been disturbed by a heavy metal flash mob. Yet for all his righteous indignation Bob was projecting, there may have been just a hint that he might have been impressed by the balls on display by this boy.
In the face of all of this, Arnold held firm and swung for the fences with, "…how's the business doing?"
Elsewhere in town, Gerald Johannsen arrived at Mighty Pete fifteen minutes ahead of the agreed-upon time. He was therefore surprised to find Phoebe already there, though she didn't seem aware of his arrival. She was on one of the landings, leaning on the railing, staring blankly out into the distance. This was a side of Phoebe he hadn't seen in a long time.
A pensive Phoebe Heyerdahl.
An uncertain Phoebe Heyerdahl.
A Phoebe Heyerdahl who didn't know: a version of herself she didn't want to be.
Her pose reinforced the solemnity with which she had delivered the invitation to him on Wednesday at P.S. 118. "Gerald, can we meet at Mighty Pete? The matter is rather…pressing."
He felt bad about letting her know that he and Arnold already had plans for that afternoon: Math homework at the Sunset Arms, he explained. But Thursday is good! Thursday was bad. Phoebe's afternoon would be booked with string bass lessons. No dice for Friday either. Fencing lessons with her father followed by Zen meditation. Unless Gerald was willing to challenge Kyo Heyerdahl, a two-time regional fencing champion and many-time State runner-up, to a duel for an audience with his daughter. They agreed on Saturday afternoon at Mighty Pete. The venue suited Phoebe especially well. It would be intimate enough for a private conversation, but out enough in the open for any untoward activity not to go unnoticed.
When he reached her on the landing, she was still in her thoughts and only became aware of his presence when she heard his voice from behind.
"Hey Babe," he greeted.
"Oh!"
His greeting startled her out of her meditation. "Hello to you too, Gerald!", she greeted back after quickly regaining her bearings. "Aren't you a tad early? There really was no cause to rush over here!"
"No earlier than you," replied Gerald as a reminder of his girlfriend's more excessive punctuality. The reminder was not lost on the half-pint, as her resulting rueful smile betrayed her nervousness over this meeting. Fine by Gerald; he was equally nervous. "So…here I am. Here we are. What's on your mind?"
"Too much, Gerald," Phoebe calmly sighed back. "Way, way too much."
"I don't suppose I can take a guess, can I?" Gerald ventured. Phoebe's silence was all the permission he needed. "And my guess is that you spoke to Helga and somehow the subject turned to us?"
Phoebe went bolt-upright upon hearing her boyfriend's conjecture. Only…it wasn't conjecture. It was the truth: how did he know that? And along came Gerald's explanation, "Word got to me on Wednesday about you and Helga hanging out at Slausen's the day before. They said at one point Helga started yakking while you were looking uncomfortable."
"Oh…," was all response Phoebe could marshal, before recovering again. "Did they happen to overhear any…um…specifics of the conversation?"
"Nah, they said they saw you from the outside. Couldn't make out what you were speaking."
Phoebe's interest in this particular aspect was well and truly piqued as she followed up with: "Then how, Gerald? How did you infer the subject matter from such scant information?"
"Here's the thing, Babe," replied Gerald, trying his best not to appear smug, "I didn't. You just confirmed it for me."
Phoebe Heyerdahl had every right to strike Gerald Johanssen for outplaying her – in the field of logic, no less! – but for the fact that he was treating the subject matter equally as seriously as she was. Instead of violence, she opted to press on with the conversation.
"Well, at least we both acknowledge the importance of the matter," she concluded nervously.
"Uh…yeah," Gerald concurred. "So…where do you wanna start?"
"Honestly? I don't know!" Phoebe conceded. "My mind's this jumble of conflicting and contradictory thoughts." Her cadence started quickening as she became more flustered over the subject matter. "Do I want to? Why? Do I not want to? Why? What are the risks? What are the rewards? What are the consequences?"
"Whoa there! Whoa!" Gerald interrupted her out of her rambling, with a time-out signal for good measure. "Take it easy, Babe! No one's asking you to end world hunger or find a cure for cancer!"
"That's just it!" snapped the diminutive one. "Were someone to ask those of me, I wouldn't hesitate! Those would be worthwhile endeavors! Against those, what is this that we're proposing?"
She left the question hanging for Gerald to proffer an answer or even a suggestion. He paused for about two seconds, which Phoebe deemed about two seconds too long as she resumed. "I mean, what is sex in the greater scheme of things if not an ephemeral beguilement? A means to an end, meant for procreation."
"Doesn't mean people don't have to enjoy it," Gerald countered.
"Yes, Gerald!" Phoebe answered, her tone tending toward frustration. "As I was repeatedly reminded by Helga…in graphic and very intimate detail."
"Does it scare you?" asked Gerald, much more in concern than in condescension. He was careful in maintaining an appropriate distance from his girlfriend. After all, the last thing he wanted was a coerced answer from her.
Phoebe sensed as much from him, hence her answer. "Yes," she stated abruptly. "And yet…Helga makes it such an attractive proposition. She speaks of sensations and emotions better than anything she's ever felt before, and I'll admit that a part of me wishes to experience those for myself."
"Yeah?" Gerald responded, while hoping to God, Zeus, and – what the hell – even Quetzalcoatl, that he hadn't come across as too eager.
"But you must understand, Gerald," Phoebe hastily clarified. "My doubts over the matter remain at odds with Helga's exultations. Constantly pulling one way and the other!"
Her tempo had started quickening once more, a sure sign of her frustration manifesting. "And as if that's not enough, I must still contend with you and your interest in and willingness for sexual intercourse!"
"Wait wait wait!" a defensive Gerald talked back over Phoebe. "All I was doing was finding out about sex and stuff. I'm not doing it to force you into anything!"
Phoebe remained unconvinced. "Oh, sure! Learning about it so you can apply it to me, no doubt! And let's not forget your self-confessed envy over having been beaten to the punch by Arnold and—"
"Girl, that's not fair!" defended Gerald. Then a brief beat to consider his follow-up, which he had to do as Phoebe had started frowning at him. Within her frown, she was also challenging him, defying him to tender a reasonable and satisfactory explanation. Knowing that, he resumed.
"Look, I'm not surprised that Helga would tell you about how good it felt, 'cos that's what Arnold said too. But—"
"A-HA!" a triumphant-sounding Phoebe interjected. "So your own gratification is the overriding factor in your reasoning! You are envious and now wish to experience that sensation for yourself!"
Yet instead of a shrinking, backtracking Gerald, she found him looking down at her in mild annoyance. "Are you done?" he asked plainly. "Can I continue?"
Phoebe was stopped into silence before nodding a half-baked apology and letting him continue, if only to be amused by whatever screwball explanation he'd conjure up.
"Anyway," Gerald resumed. "Arnold did say how good it felt for him, that much is true. BUT…"
He paused and was satisfied that she was still, albeit barely, willing to entertain his explanation.
"But at the same time, he was just as serious about how good it felt for Helga!"
This was an eyes-widening surprise for Phoebe. In her discussions with Helga, the tall blonde girl had also emphasized the importance of her partner's participation, though Phoebe might have glossed over that aspect. And if she had glossed it over, what were the odds of Gerald of all people raising that point? How lucky she was then, to consider herself not the gambling type. Her surprised look was clear as day to her boyfriend, who read the expression and reckoned he was on the right track.
He knew then that he'd have a rapt listener when he relayed Arnold's recollection of sex with Helga based on fragments of what was said that day in his room.
xxXXXxx
"But Gerald, Helga was totally different than before…"
.
"...I don't think I've ever seen her happier than that!"
.
"...and her breathing and her moaning…I just loved hearing it…just so cute! The more she moaned, the more I wanted to go on, just to keep hearing it!"
.
"And that face she pulled when she was done…it was like she was hurting but at the same time she couldn't be any happier! And you know what? She was like that because of what I did and it's a side she's only shown to me and no one else!"
xxXXXxx
Eventually, he'd pleaded his case. Now Gerald was awaiting Phoebe's cross-examination, as was wont to happen when dealing with such serious concerns as this. Inevitably: "So you're reassuring me that this is about the shared experience and not merely for your own benefit. Is that what I'm hearing?"
"That's right!" Gerald replied emphatically. "100%, hand-on-heart, cross my heart and hope to die!"
His gesture stirred a small amount of amusement in Phoebe, who added: "No, your word is good enough. No need to die to prove your point!"
"Yeah, that would be kinda pointless, wouldn't it?" Gerald concurred.
The couple briefly shared a jovial laugh before Phoebe brought them back on topic. "Gerald, as noble as your intentions are, as wonderful a boyfriend as you are…and as interested as I might be in one day having sex with you…the fact remains that I don't yet feel I'm ready for such an act, regardless of the pressure I'm being subjected to."
"Babe, I didn't forget what I told you on Monday," Gerald answered. "I want you bad, and to say anything else will make me a liar. But never – never – if it will hurt you. And the part about only when you're good and ready—"
"…'and not a moment before'," Phoebe reminded him not only of his words but also that she had taken them to heart. Gerald had barely the time to be surprised or impressed by Phoebe's recollection as he resumed his vow.
"Exactly! That part hasn't changed and will never change!"
About ten seconds of silence befell the couple before Phoebe broke it with: "I…I've no idea what to say other than…thank you."
"For what?" Gerald wanted to know. "I'm just being the gentleman my parents raised me to be, is all."
Phoebe tittered in response to her boyfriend's assertion and added: "And for the record, though I still have my reservations, I am honored that you'd want to share such a profound experience with me."
Gerald took Phoebe's words as a cue to close in on the half-pint cutie. "Hey," he began some sincere smooth-talking. "I may not always know what's in here," he said as he placed two fingers on her brow, to no resistance. "And I damn sure don't know all of the words that come from here," he continued as he moved his fingers away from her brow and very lightly pressed them to her lips. "But when you speak from here," – he moved down to press his hand against her chest – "there's no misunderstanding such beauty, even by me!"
Gerald maintained the pose to let its significance sink in. Another spell of silence descended on the two as Phoebe looked down at his hand, then looked up with a smirk and spoke: "Gerald, are you aware that your hand is on my breastbone?"
Oh shit, Gerald internally admonished himself, fearing that he'd gone once too often to the well. However, before he could yank his hand away, he felt Phoebe's on it and pinning it down. Her smirk hadn't subsided and her piercing eyes remained fixed on his.
"I presume you were aiming for my heart, right? Well in that case…" she trailed as she shifted his hand slightly, still without releasing her gaze. "…your hand would need to be here," she said, content at having corrected him.
Gerald felt himself squirm at the realization that Phoebe had moved his hand to her left breast. His initial unease was exacerbated by his being unable to remove his hand; Phoebe was holding it in place. Thankfully, his unease was short-lived because of Phoebe's heart rate which felt like it was in the triple digits.
"I guess we're both excited," Gerald ventured as he took Phoebe's free hand and placed it on his heart. He wanted her to feel that he was as thrilled about her as she appeared to be about him. Next, he leaned forward to touch his forehead against hers. Not one word was spoken for a significant amount of time as Gerald Johanssen and Phoebe Heyerdahl held their positions.
Eyes closed.
Breathing softly.
Lost to in-synch hearts beating their mutual excitement.
When they eventually returned to the here and now, it was Phoebe who spoke first: "I don't suppose kissing would be out of the question, would it?"
Son of a bitch!
Helga and Miriam Pataki shared that thought as well as a look of intense surprise as they sat watching what was unfolding across the table. What had started with a seemingly innocuous question (or a death wish, depending on who was asked) by Arnold, had evolved into a lively conversation. The discussion was centered around the beeper emporium. Arnold would ask a question, and Bob would be surprisingly all too enthusiastic to answer. From its humble beginnings ("I saw a gap in the market and…") to its exponential growth ("…not a hospital or construction site within 200 miles without a beeper from my store and…") to its current situation ("…I tell you, the new goldmine's in mobile phones! The moment I find the right merchandise and a reliable supplier…").
Helga and Miriam were agog at how animated and affable Bob was being, more so that he was even capable of such. Even more so that Arnold, whether knowingly or unknowingly, had been able to coax such a conversation out of him.
Damn, he's good! So thought Miriam to herself.
Yeah, I know! So thought Helga.
The conversation was at its tail end as Bob spoke as if delivering a closing argument.
"Let me tell you, boy! Success doesn't just happen overnight! You gotta put in the hours! You gotta put in the work! You think things are just gonna happen? I've got news for you: they're not! You gotta be willing to take risks! Hell, you gotta be prepared to walk on water if that's what it takes! You gotta be willing to do the impossible to make the impossible happen!"
And that was it: his killer speech that was meant to convince courtrooms and galvanize job applicants at his store. He allowed himself a moment to bask, a moment cut short by a loud sound of a throat being cleared. Both Bob and Arnold turned to the source and found a deeply chagrined Miriam staring her husband down. Helga beside her looked on in anticipation of a popcorn-worthy event.
"Nice speech about making your business a success, B," she began in a voice as unnerving as it was cool. Even Arnold, for whom her words were clearly not meant, felt the need to be ashamed of something. Miriam continued with: "I hope you feel the same way about our marriage."
She left it at that for Bob to stew, which he did before fumbling for a deflection.
"Miriam, not at the table!"
And Miriam, who had anticipated this tactic, countered with: "If not here, where else? Are you saying you want to go back to sleeping on the couch?"
"NO! Wait! Well, what I mean is…not…not in front of our guest!"
"Oh, don't you worry about Arnold finding out," assured Miriam. He knows about Helga's story and our family life."
Now it was Helga's turn to be shocked and surprised by her grandmother's disclosure. She'd been amused when her grandmother announced Arnold as her beau, just for her grandfather's sputtering reaction that made him resemble a salmon in distress. Now, however, Helga Geraldine Pataki was as scared for Arnold as he was scared of how Bob would process that particular nugget of information. Neither needed worry.
"And B," the Pataki matriarch warned with cold, understated menace in her voice, "you so much as give that young man beside you a dirty look and there will be hell to pay. He has shown our granddaughter more love and compassion than you and I combined. The least we can do is follow his example and start making amends."
After a long period of silent consideration, Bob grunted more in deference to his wife's decision than in acceptance of his granddaughter's relationship.
"Fine!"
Arnold wanted to take time to admire this woman in front of him whom he had last witnessed as an emotionally inert automaton back at The Sunset Arms. Here she was, back in charge of her life and grateful for every moment of it. From where he sat, he could tell from Helga's smile of approval that she had also come to respect, if not yet outright love, the new Miriam.
Miriam noticed the lighter mood around the table and sought to continue with the conversation.
"So Arnold," she ventured, "what brings you here to our home?"
The footballhead replied: "I wanted to see Helga. To thank her."
His words piqued the interest of the female Patakis while Bob sat fearing the worst-case scenario. In fairness, Miriam was also a little apprehensive over what might have happened for Arnold to seek out Helga within the sanctuary of her home. Still, he had more than earned the benefit of her doubt, so she opted to keep the topic alive.
"Oh?" she reacted, her curiosity stimulated. "And what was it you were going to thank her for? It must have been quite something for you to want to hug her so tightly at the doorway."
"And choose your words carefully, Buster!" warned Bob from within his figurative penalty box. "I don't want another surprise like with Olga!"
"B!" Miriam scolded, compelling him to hold his peace.
And once more, Arnold was reminded that he had pretty much blundered into the Pataki residence guided by his heart more than his head. Here he was now, asked to explain how Helga had given him hope over his missing parents, and somehow avoid the part that she was a visitor from two prior universes.
And as those who knew him well would attest to under oath, he was a terrible liar.
Would you look at that? Another chapter is done! My boundless gratitude, dear readers, for your continued support. Hopefully you are still enjoying my tale. I mean, the previous chapter's numbers were on par with those before it, but nothing quite beats reading your thoughts and engaging with you. Seriously, any thoughts, questions, or concerns about this story? Let me know and I will address them.
Anyway, This chapter was mostly about the secondary goals. For one to offer a snapshot of Miriam and her marriage to Bob, mostly through hints and suggestions so as not to detract entirely from the Shortaki. Secondly, Gerald and Phoebe. I wanted to devote some proper time and space to this development. As an aside, does the GeraldxPhoebe ship have a name à la "Shortaki" or "Arnda"?
As for where we are in the story...I'd say it's reached the point of being closer to the end than from the beginning. No comment on the number of chapters remaining, though. As one who writes and submits on a chapter-by-chapter basis, I've found the remaining chapters of a story to be a variable number rather than fixed.
Next, the obligatory Tidal List:
Thin Line Between Love And Hate – Annie Lennox
Ordinary World – Duran Duran
Drowning In Your Eyes – Ephraim Lewis
Dreams – Gabrielle
With A Little Luck – Paul McCartney and Wings
Tainted – Swing Out Sister
And now that I've said my say, thank you once more for your support. Stay safe and take nothing for granted.